


It starts in the locker room

by zoemargaret



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-21
Updated: 2010-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-12 19:23:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoemargaret/pseuds/zoemargaret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP. Bojan takes a shower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It starts in the locker room

Bojan hums as he rinses the shampoo out of his hair. He's lost track of the room around him, caught up in the sensuous pleasure of raking his nails across his scalp. He shudders as his fingers reach his ears, not realizing he's smiling until his mouth fills with water. He sputters and gropes the tap as he tries to catch his breath.

Fine, so his shower's over. He flips his hair back and grabs for his kit, growling as his soap falls out. With one hand on the slick wall, he bends over.

“And what do we have here?” Bojan jumps but manages to catch himself against the wall. Pep's watching him from the doorway, devastating even in blue jeans and a flannel shirt.

“Pep!” he stammers. “I didn't realize you were there.” As that initial shock wears off he remembers why Pep is probably here. “Oh, you're ready to go. Give me five minutes?”

“Hmm.” Pep steps back and Bojan slides by him, Pep's body heat radiant against his wet skin .”I suppose we could do that.” Bojan rummages in his locker for his clothes. In his haste his towel begins to slip and he mutters a curse as he has to drop his jeans to catch it.

There's an amused huff behind him. “Need a hand, sweetheart?”

Bojan preens, but tries to hide his reaction. Apparently not enough because Pep's suddenly at his back, warm familiar hands grasping his towel. “Let me get that, beautiful.” Bojan full on shivers at the endearment and Pep exhales slowly. “Kiki,” Pep murmurs, the childish nickname something else entirely. “Turn around for me.”

As Bojan turns Pep pushes him against the locker with a clang, the cool metal forcing goosebumps. He's about to ask when Pep's on him, tongue and lips and teeth and heat. Bojan wraps his arms around his neck and hitches closer, opening his mouth willingly to the onslaught. After that initial rush Pep slows down to an aching pace, tongue leisurely mapping his lips and mouth, each sweep slower than the last. Bojan frowns but Pep either doesn't notice or ignores his displeasure. So Bojan feels perfectly justified in curving his hand around Pep's neck and yanking him down for his own exploration. Pep makes a surprised sound before relaxing. Bojan wriggles in triumph then devotes himself to thoroughly kissing Pep back.

Bojan's just settled into a rhythm when his towel slips. He automatically reaches down to hold it up but Pep stops him. Bojan pulls away, shivering with the obscene noise as their lips part. “In here?” he asks, looking behind Pep's shoulder to the door. To the locked door. That means...He hits Pep on the shoulder. “You planned this from the beginning, didn't you!”

Pep smiles, dark and wicked and utterly charming. “I admit nothing.” Bojan snorts but can't hide his fond smile. Pep smiles back, smug. Bojan starts to say something when Pep lets go of him and steps back. Bojan immediately scowls and reaches forward; Pep's hand on his chest stops him.

Bojan frowns but settles back against his locker. Only once Pep's certain he's staying still does the other man move, rubbing his stubbled chin down Bojan's chest as he slides to his knees. “Pep,” Bojan gasps, the sharp rasp painful against his just showered skin. “Fuck.”

“Bojan,” Pep says, lips only inches away from Bojan's cock. “Look at me.” Bojan wants to protest that he is, that he could never turn away from this, from him, but then he meets Pep's dark eyes and he swallows at what he sees there.

Eyes glued to Bojan's, Pep parts his lips and just flicks his tongue over the head of Bojan's cock. Bojan gasps and instinctively thrusts forward, his cock catching against Pep's lips. Pep lets out a pleased sigh and opens his mouth, sucking in just the head. Wraps his lips around the ridge and pulls back just enough for Bojan to feel the pressure. “Fuck,” Bojan whispers, no, whimpers. “Oh Pep, please.”

Pep tugs once more before taking pity and relaxing his hold. Bojan tries, but he really can't stop himself. He arches his hips, cock sliding into Pep's warm mouth as the other man twitches in surprise. “Sorry, sorry,” he mutters, pulling back.

But Pep won't let him go. Instead he cups his hands around the curve of Bojan's ass and pulls him closer. Bojan startles and puts his hands on Pep's head to push him away but Pep flashes a very familiar irritated look and pulls him forward again.

Bojan's not stupid. He tries one tentative movement, more rocking his hips than thrusting. He drops his jaw and moans as he just keeps sliding down Pep's throat, the other man's mouth hot and wet and oh so tight around him and god he loves when they do this, when Pep takes him in like this. And then Pep's swallowing and Bojan convulses, pleasure so intense he doesn't know if he can keep standing. He thrusts in again, harder this time.

Again, Pep takes him with ease. One more stroke and again, Pep takes it. And then Bojan loses it completely. He's fucking Pep's mouth now, no finesse or skill, just a frantic fucking that barely allows Pep time to gasp for breath.

All too soon he's teetering on the edge and normally he'd try to wait, to prolong the experience but Pep looks so obscene like this, drool and precome smeared across his chin, lips swollen from Bojan's cock. And he doesn't want to wait. So he doesn't. Instead, he grabs Pep's head and pulls him onto himself, hips bucking up once twice and then he's shooting down Pep's throat, not registering the coughing or the gasping for air, just concerned with his own pleasure.

All too soon it's over and he's left slumped against the lockers, too blissed out to look away from Pep.

Pep coughs and spits on the towel, nose wrinkled. “Sorry,” Bojan says weakly.

Pep quirks an eyebrow at him. “I'm not,” he states. His voice is wrecked and Bojan trembles at the reminder of what he just did. Pep smirks at him and grabs the forgotten towel to wipe at his face.

“No!” Bojan protests and in a movement that's not quite as controlled as he could wish he's down on his knees with Pep, licking at his face. Tasting himself on Pep's skin, his lips, his tongue. Only once he's lapped up every trace does he stop. “Pep,” he says. But he has no idea what to say.

Pep apparently understands. “Tell you what,” he says as he levers them both to their feet. “Why do you get dressed and I'll take us home.”

“But,” Bojan starts, disappointed. He can already taste Pep, feel the weight of him on his tongue.

“Kiki,” Pep says affectionately. “The locker room isn't really suitable for what I have in mind.” He cups a hand in Bojan's still wet hair and kisses him.

“Oh,” Bojan mutters blankly when Pep draws away. “Oh!”

 


End file.
